A Peculiar Habit
by Gravity
Summary: That seemed to compliment a thinking man so well. Rydia/Kain.


I finished my Rydia/Edge piece first; here's the Rydia/Kain one.

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**A Peculiar Habit  
**_That seemed to compliment a thinking man so well._

The first thing Rydia had noticed when she encountered the Dragoon down in the Underworld was a smoky scent. Fragrant and pleasant. She might have noticed the same scent at their first meeting, when he had drawn close to her and her dead mother. Yet the more brutal, blackened air of the town burning overpowered the scent back then. Even though that smoke was thick, she could also remember the faint perfume on her mother's body that day, a perfect imitation of the garden they kept, now burnt along with her childhood home.

She had encountered the same scent again back in the cold crystal room of Fabul Castle, her friends hurt and the Dragoon descending upon them, his aura wicked and seemingly out of place, like it wasn't his. Much had happened in that short amount of time, the introductions to their villainous enemy, the strange interactions between her companions, Rosa's kidnapping, but she most remembered the smoky scent that tickled her nose when Kain had walked out, a lap dog obeying his new master.

And then she was bereft of the smell for a long time, down in the Feymarch to hone her powers, surrounded by the musky scent of monsters and magic. Soon enough she was saving her friends from defeat at the hands of Golbez, explaining her situation to her old and new friends afterwards. When the Dragoon, whose aura she felt was completely his again, expressed his surprise at her accelerated growth, she had smiled at him and the feeling of experiencing his smoky fragrance that she had grown to miss.

Rydia would smell it again one night, walking between the tower houses of the Dwarven Castle. Awake with anxiety about traveling to the Sealed Cave soon, she had taken to wandering the premises when the smoke tickled her nose. Light, unlike the smoke that dominated the Underworld. A scent that was familiar and unknown at the same time. And so she followed it, knowing who lay at the end, and not really knowing why she chose to seek it.

Rydia found him hunched on top of the short defensive walls, on the other side of the castle where she had hardly ventured to before. His right leg was hanging down towards the magma that surrounded the castle, while the other was bent so his wrist could rest atop his knee. This allowed his arm to keep his spear close, the shaft resting on his shoulder and the bottom of the weapon resting on the floor. He was looking outward into the barren lands, his hair dancing about with the aggressive flow of hot air. In his right hand, Rydia had noticed, was the source of the wisps of smoke: a pipe.

She could have left him alone like she always did, but that smoky fragrance was so close now, so alluring, that she couldn't have stopped her feet if she tried. Seconds later, her elbows were folded atop the waist-high walls, allowing her to lean forward into the scenery if she so wished. A few inches to her right and she would be touching his foot.

Nothing was spoken for those few moments, but Rydia felt that he did not mind her presence and thus did not move away. So they looked out into the strange world together in silence, in an ease that surprised her. He took occasional puffs, she inhaled the scent that burned a little in her nose. It was comforting

And when he did speak, it startled her.

"Nothing compares to Dwarven tobacco," Kain had spoken, his voice quiet and thoughtful. Rydia turned her head to face her companion, who was still gazing outward into the darkened landscape. She was more acclimated to his silence, but any words he did utter were always relevant and meaningful, even if spoken curtly. His cordial speech was still present now, but it felt a little warmer then other conversation. Perhaps it was the hot air in this place.

It would have been unkind of Rydia to not respond to such an open invitation to speak from this man. "It smells really nice."

But she had waited too long, and Kain said nothing.

She looked away. There was silence again, though not as calm as it had been moments ago. It felt uncomfortable. Rydia played with the drapes of her outerwear, deliberating on whether to take her leave now and try to sleep. That would have been a task hard to manage, as the smoke from his pipe was keeping her wide awake. Or perhaps it was that recent poor excuse for a conversation with an intimidating man that made her feel ashamed for some reason.

"I never apologized for my transgressions."

Kain would never fail to startle her. Surprised, Rydia whipped around to face him, feeling her cheeks redden at how he was regarding her. His lips were pursed together and she was almost glad that his eyes were shielded, the way she imagined them piercing her through his helm. She never had his full attention before. Not with the company they kept.

He was palming his pipe, fingers rubbing the item, and Rydia guessed it a nervous gesture. He did that sometimes with his weapon too, during more stressful situations. And if he indeed were nervous about her response, then she would say what had always been spoken when approached with the subject of her childhood home and mother.

"I've forgiven a long time ago."

Which was partially true. All that had happened afterward that day was an experience to be thankful for. Rydia had made great friends with the monsters of the Underworld, found comfort in her Queen and King, learned tomes of magic that she would have never imagined existed, learned how to truly embraced her Caller heritage that had eluded her in her youth. Most of all, she had met the heroes of the world, those who suffered just as greatly and could still rise up above the pain. Even if some of them needed some encouragement from Rydia herself, like the Bard.

Yet the pain was still too much sometimes. Despite her newfound life, her town was still gone. Her mother was still gone. There seemed no reason to forgive anybody for that.

So when that painful memory was triggered when sympathies were expressed, she would say all was forgiven, and that was the end of that. Too bad those words don't work so well on the perpetrators. It took many verbal assurances to convince Cecil, and even then she felt like he was taking pains to make her travels a little more comfortable as a way to keep amending, the way he protected her during battles and constantly asked if she was okay.

And if the way Kain was frowning was any indication, she had a feeling that he didn't believe her words so easily either.

Rydia was growing more uncomfortable, the way he kept looking at her. But she didn't want to broach the subject anymore. Why could no one let the subject drop, she wondered. Probably because she couldn't let it go either.

His hand was suddenly in front of her, in his palm, the pipe. Rydia stared at the object, confused, gazing at the wisps of smoke that were flowing from the bowl. The scent assailed her nostrils in full force.

"There is a tradition," Kain started, and she looked at him, "that a pipe was offered to smoke, as a sign of peace."

She didn't say anything, so he gestured at the pipe. "Try it."

A little startled, a little curious, Rydia took the pipe, her fingers brushing at his palm to pick it up. She inspected the craftsmanship of the object with a keen eye, brushing her fingers against the smooth briar wood, looking at the stem and noticing that it looked a little worn.

Kain seemed to notice her line of sight. "I've been at it for a long time."

It explains why his voice was rough. Mixed in with the deep baritone and his voice was an intimidating combination.

Rydia looked at him again, how he was hunched towards her, as if what she did next was going to be very important to him. And it dawned on her. If her words weren't going to be convincing, then this little tradition might, and the subject wouldn't be touched again. He wouldn't remind her about her dead mother anymore. He wouldn't remind her of her lost town. It would be spoken of no more. She took a deep breath before raising the pipe to her lips, trying to imitate what she saw he did when he was at it.

She thought she was going to drop the pipe, the way she had doubled over and started coughing so violently. Suddenly he was standing beside her, perhaps ready to help, but she swatted him away. She could manage her embarrassment herself.

When the coughs had subsided, she brushed at the invisible dust on her clothing before facing him, trying to fight off her discomfort. Her throat burned. Her tongue burned. Her head felt dizzy. Worse of all, he looked somewhat worried. She managed to smile.

"Guess I need more practice." She offered the pipe back to him, and he took it, his fingers brushing against her. "Better commit more atrocities, then."

Kain let out a surprised sound at her joke then, and Rydia wondered if perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say to someone who had been in his situation. She was about rush forward to apologize, but then he looked at her again, a small smile on his face that surprised her so much that her words were halted and her movements were stayed. She remained that way when he tucked the pipe away. She remained that way when he went back to pick up his spear. And she remained that way when he wished her a quiet goodnight, walking away, leaving behind a bit of the smoky scent that she had originally sought out for.

The next time she encountered the fragrance was on the Lunar Whale. They were headed to the moon for what hopefully was the first and final encounter with the evil of Zemus, and Rydia was again sleep-deprived with anxiety. Walking around the cold, massive structure didn't do much to calm her nerves, but when her nose picked up that pleasant smokiness, she didn't hesitate in following it.

The scent was fainter then usual and hampered her search effort, but she eventually found him by the windows. His spear was strapped onto his back, his arms crossed as he looked out to the image of their home shrinking away from them. She stopped a few paces behind him, making sure to scuffle a little so he knew she was there, not surprised that he didn't acknowledge her anyways.

She wanted to say something, but time was passing by and the silence was growing uncomfortable. What was there to say to this man after what had recently transpired? Experiencing mind control for a second time… Rydia didn't think he deserve the pain. Edge wasn't helping much with his blatant disapproval for the Dragoon. If they were to win together as a group, they had to accept each other. Including accepting themselves.

The silence was unbearable. Rydia blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Can I see your pipe?"

Kain didn't respond, didn't move, and she fidgeted, wondering if this was a bad time to speak. She was about to apologize and bid good night before there was movement.

Feeling courageous by the progress, Rydia drew to his side, eyes catching the palm that held the pipe and the tobacco that was being filled into the bowl, how he would press on it when the bowl was full and would add more until packed in. She was silent as he placed the pipe into his mouth, lighting a match to the dried material. Taking a deep breath of the smoky fragrance that began to manifest, she was surprised at how eager her nostrils were to reacquaint itself with it. He puffed a few times before lighting the pipe again. Wisps of smoke escaped his lips as he worked at the starting process methodically, and then the pipe was offered to her. She took it eagerly.

Rydia knew what to expect this time when she placed the stem to her mouth and inhaled, showing in the way her coughs were not as fierce as before. She still burned though.

"Don't inhale," Kain murmured. "Go slow."

"Ah." When she felt ready to try again, Rydia did as he said, letting the smoke wisp about in her mouth, intrigued at the myriad of flavors she suddenly was experiencing. Imitating what he would do, she let her lips open slightly, watching as the smoke gently escaped into the cold air of the ship. She smiled then, feeling triumphant, pumping her fist into the air as she handed the pipe back to her companion. She thought he might have looked a little amused.

"Alright then! You're forgiven again."

He didn't look so relaxed anymore. Rydia cursed at herself, wondering why her jokes never worked, but then he chuckled, so low and quiet that she had to strain to hear it. He shook his head, light strands of blonde hair following the motion, and then the pipe was back to his lips. She glanced at him, nervous and confused. And then he was offering the pipe back to her, a peace offering that she would oblige to easily.

They shared these few moments exchanging the pipe, gazing out into a fading world, a fading familiarity, onto an oncoming moon, an oncoming danger. Sometimes the pipe seem to die out, startling the Caller, and the Dragoon would work at easily, continuing the process they were engrossed in, the smoky scent surrounding them in a comfortable silence. She wondered what he was thinking about, letting her partake in this habit with him and his pipe. Maybe a sign of generosity, seeing as they all might die soon anyways.

The pipe finally died out properly in her hands, and Rydia was hesitant to give it back. She had liked this experience, however short, and suddenly wished for all the time in world to indulge. But life never worked out like anyone wanted, and Rydia was learning to take pleasure in what was given in its place. It made it easier to forgive.

Kain had inclined his head a bit in her direction, as if asking for his pipe without saying anything, and Rydia finally offered the prized object back to him. She was feeling childish for wanting to keep it, having grown strangely attached to the object, palming it in her right hand in offering to his left.

But he only shook his head again, turning his body around to face her.

There it was again, his undivided attention. Her cheeks were starting to burn.

The smile that appeared on his face made her want to dump her own in a bucket full of ice. "Keep it." And then he left, and Rydia was too stunned to protest. How odd, these situations were with him, to be so similar to one another as she watched him leave in the same fashion as back at the castle. The only difference being that the smoky scent was now on her.

Now the fragrance only came about by her bidding. The pipe's original owner had taken to the treacherous mountains after the return from the moon. Rydia had been informed that the place he now inhabited was where Cecil had his own trials performed, and now one more had gone to seek atonement of his own. His hands carried too much blood to grant him the reprieve that everyone else was awarded. At least that was she thought was his reasoning.

Rydia was perched atop a railing that looked out into the mystic lands. The smoke lulled softly from the bowl of the pipe that she held. Minutes ago did the invitation to the coronation and wedding appear in her hands, and she felt the need to indulge in the pipe to consider the situation.

She had taken to the habit more often recently. Nothing seemed to calm her thoughts like a puff at the tobacco that was picked up every so often from the nearest Dwarven town, the flavors comforting and the scent entirely familiar.

Although, the need to smoke was the strongest when she thought about him. Like when she had read the invitation, and the first thing that came to mind was the man who stood on the highest point of a fierce mountain. She can imagine him standing there, not feeling so high, not feeling so fierce, weighted down by the shame he bore, as if no one had forgiven him.

When she thought about his plight, she would seek out a quiet place amongst the lands of the Feymarch and begin the process, like he had done so methodically, so long ago. Every wisp of smoke that danced along her tongue, tickled her nose, covered her in its scent, was a comforting reminder of a friend that she never regretted meeting in the manner that they had.

And she hoped that every puff she took would reach him so far away, letting him know that she had forgiven him every time she took to this peculiar habit.

_Fin._


End file.
